November 17, 2009

"Oh sorry it was accidental! I'll let you hit me back?""What do I get out of that besides seeing you get hurt? No, I want a king size chocolate bar, pronto."

I do not take pleasure in seeing other people get hurt. Volleyball, however, is a sport in which one's team gains points from a member of the opposing team messing up and feeling stupid; failing. A lanky student who prefers changing the scoreboard cards in between sentences of his favorite book may slip up on a serve, feeling humiliated - "How could you do that?! It's easy! You just go like this!" yells the team's self-appointed big brother and slave master - and the opposing team cheers. "YES! Alright! One point for the [lame nickname picked up by a Frat Pack movie. The speaker is conflicted between his disappointment that no one got the great reference and his pleasure in the fact that he can now say, 'You mean you've NEVER seen _______? Dude!']"

Now, don't take this the wrong way. I admire those who can hit a volleyball or kick a soccer ball and be really committed to practicing stuff. I could never do any of these and am bitter that I am forced to try to every day. I am also bitter that a volleyball hit me smack dab in the face last week, causing my glasses to fall to the floor, causing me to go to the trouble to bend over to pick up my also bent spectacles. My crooked glasses served as a sad metaphor for what the nerd's place is in a room full of physically talented individuals.

I do like some sports. I am a fan of Speed Stacking, in which multiple cups are stacked and unstacked following a certain pattern within a certain period of time. I also like biking, because it is convenient when you see someone you don't really want to; when they later ask "Didn't you see me across the street?" you can enjoy the struggle to hide your pride as you reply, "That was you? I couldn't tell, I was about to get hit by a car!" making the accuser feel as though they had asked you to risk your life in order to speak to them. Dance is nice, then I remember that I much prefer watching videos of Thoroughly Modern Millie tap numbers on Youtube than I do to trying to actually get my foot up to there. I also like swimming, or rather, sitting in the shallow end of the pool and watching toddlers learn to swim (which isn't as creepy as that sounds) hoping that these younguns can have a better life in sports than that which I have created for myself.

I despise the expectations that somebody with a pair of cool Nikes can catch a frisbee without bruising thier nose or failing to catch it. (The excuse being "These shoes were a gift! I just like the velvet and the color purple! Ooh, The Color Purple. Now THAT is a great shower singalong show.")

Athletics, you are the bane of my existence. You embarrass me, you physically hurt me, you chew me up and spit me out and then sit on me and fart on my crushed, frail body. I want nothing to do with you.

However, this Alexander Wang jacket is really cute.

The material looks soft. Maybe if I take up football I can have my own.

Bottega Veneta took a neat take on tennis (or something?) wear for Spring, which I am a fan of.Any sleeves I tie around my waist would be because I can't have any more clothes on my bedroom floor and not because I'm trying to be legitimately practical. Guffaw! However, Proenza Scouler made me want to take up skateboarding and surfing.And I loved the soccer theme at Y-3, this net-resembling mesh dress especially.

Though it may lead more people to expect me to be more useful and fun in a game of catch than a visually impaired opposum, I guess I can't help but want a little sportswear in my closet right about now. But I shall not give in, Sports. I will continue to dislike you and steer clear of any of your fans, who seem to still not realize that just because they're wearing 20 pounds of facepaint doesn't mean we can't recognize them. And maybe I'll wear the Alexander Wang jacket that pays homage to your, Sports, empire every once in a while, but if you think I won't scream like (more of) a little girl when a group of passerbys with a football get mud on the precious coat, you are getting way ahead of yourself. Do you hear me, Sports? Do you-oh God, you're right. I'm pointing at you with a foam finger, aren't I.